Partners In Crime
by Shelly Lane
Summary: While working a case, Basil remembers events that happened when he was just starting out as a detective. Ideas used from Disney, Doyle, Titus, and FantasmaTraNoi.
1. Once Upon A Time

**Once Upon A Time…**

"Mr. Basil! The chief of police is demanding to see you at once!"

I nodded. "Do show him in, Mrs. Judson."

Leighton had barely entered the room when he began his story.

"Don't speak!" I interrupted. "Do allow me to guess the reason for having such _delightful_ company this evening! It's urgent! Some disaster of the most adverse nature has transpired! A great tragedy that will no doubt bring the empire to ruin!"

"Perhaps not that catastrophic, but certainly serious," Leighton replied. "You see…"

"The entire police force of Mousedom has gone missing!" I continued. "Have you investigated the pastry shops? I would wager that over half the law enforcement officers in the country could be found in such places!"

"When you're finished with the sarcasm, Basil, perhaps we can discuss business."

I settled comfortably into my chair and began smoking my pipe. "You may proceed at will."

"I was patrolling Hyde Park, and I came across a man who looked as if he were asleep under a tree. When I got closer, I realized he was dead. I turned to Mansfield, who had been only a few feet away from me, but when I looked, he wasn't there."

"Mansfield?"

"My partner," he explained.

"So you wish me to investigate a murder and a kidnapping?"

"Will you take the case?" queried Leighton.

"Your story intrigues me, but you forgot the part where the Big Bad Cat arrives, demolishes the house of cheese, and consumes the Three Little Mice, except for the one who climbs the beanstalk to the castle in the clouds." I sighed. "Have you nothing better to do than waste my time with your fairy tales?"

"You don't believe me?!"

"Not a whit!" I rejoined. "First of all, you did not become the chief of police because you are injudicious. You 'just happened' to notice a murder. You heard or saw nothing suspicious beforehand. No concerned citizens reported the crime. You can hardly expect me to believe as much! Furthermore, your partner mysteriously vanished. I would accept such an account from nearly anyone else, but both of you are police officers! How does a kidnapping occur within ten feet of the chief of police without his notice? If Mansfield truly is your partner, could he not have defended himself, or is he the only police officer in Mousedom who was never given weapons or trained to do his job properly?"

"Detective, I give you my word as a gentleman that I have told you…"

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you." I opened the door. "Thank you for dropping by. Do return when you can stay longer. Have a pleasant evening."

He stared in astonishment. "Are you telling me goodbye so soon, Basil?"

I stiffened at his accidental reminder of painful memories, but I said nothing.

"Please! Mansfield's my partner! If something were to happen to him…"

"He would be given a hero's funeral and laid to rest in the finest cemetery in London," I stated.

"He's more than my colleague! He's my friend!"

"Fascinating."

"What if something were to happen to Dawson? Wouldn't you try to find him?" Leighton inquired.

"Do you honestly think I, Detective Basil of Baker Street, would be foolish enough to allow my most trusted associate to be spirited away?!"

"What about Prescott?"

I crossed my arms. "If I acquiesce this jocosity of yours, will you allow me to spend the rest of the evening in the comfort of my own domicile?"

"Of course!" he promised eagerly.

"Very well."


	2. The Unsuccessful Murder

**The Unsuccessful Murder**

As soon as we arrived at Hyde Park, I knelt beside the murder victim and began attempting to determine the cause of death. Before I could form a conclusion, I noticed something highly unusual about the man's left wrist.

"Doctor!"

"What is it, Basil?"

"Dawson, in your professional medical opinion, is there anything atypical about this fatality?"

My partner touched the victim's wrist. "I can still feel his pulse!"

"Precisely! If his life can yet be saved, this case may be solved with less effort than we originally thought!"

"I don't know, Basil. He's closer to death than you realize."

"Have you ever treated a patient this close to departing from this life?"

"Only once," Dawson responded.

"Did he live?"

"Yes, you did."

I pitied Dawson, for his nerves were blatantly frayed. The anxiety of the case had caused him to use the wrong pronoun! By using "you" instead of "he," my associate was unwittingly suggesting that _**I **_had been his patient who was only a few breaths away from the grave, and everyone in the empire knows such a predicament is not possible for someone of my notable caliber. I have spent my entire life without suffering the effects of terminal illness or potentially fatal injury, and although Dr. Dawson is highly skilled at his profession, I have never been in need of his medical assistance.

However, I simply had no time to discuss grammatical errors. We had to hasten to Baker Street as quickly as possible. I helped Dawson gently place the injured party on the bed in one of the guestrooms. To our astonishment, our visitor began to stir slightly. I slipped out of the room as Dawson began his typical speech.

"Easy. You'll be alright. I'm a doctor. I can help you. Just relax. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Several minutes later, Dawson emerged from the room. "He should live, but he's rather weak. I would discourage you from inquiring about the murder attempt until he's feeling a bit better."

"Resting now, is he?" I queried.

"Yes. He's very tired. Sleep is the best thing for him now."

"He has my sympathy." I lit my pipe. "It must be a most horrific experience to be nearly murdered. Now the poor chap is helpless from his wounds, and he owes his life to someone he barely knows. I'm certainly grateful I was never in such a wretched state!"

After a pause, Dawson inquired, "Do you remember the night you fought Ratigan on Big Ben?"

"Indeed!" I nearly shuddered at the memory. "I was most fortunate to have remained unscathed during the battle!"

"I still say I never danced with those women you mention so often!"

"You did. Take my word for it. I had never been more humiliated in my entire life."

"I may have made the mistake of drinking tampered beer at the pub, but I would never associate with burlesque dancers, let alone perform with one!"

"You performed with_ three_," I corrected. "Doctor, I understand that someone of your career must maintain a certain amount of prestige, but I simply cannot tolerate mice who live in denial!"

I thought I heard Mrs. Judson laugh softly from the kitchen, but I wasn't sure.

"Even if it is so," Dawson began, "I can't let my blunder shame me for the rest of my life. After all, no one's perfect. Everyone makes mistakes."

"_Almost_ everyone," I stated.

"Almost?!"

"I never have."

"What about shooting Mrs. Judson's pillows?"

I removed my cap and held it to my heart. "I'm afraid they were a casualty, but their noble sacrifice was for the greater good."

"What about Ratigan's trap?" Dawson continued.

"I knew he was waiting to ambush us!" I explained. "I merely allowed myself to walk into his trap in order to fool him into believing everything was going according to his scheme. I feigned despair so he would be oblivious to the fact that I was still plotting his downfall."

I thought I heard more laughter coming from the kitchen.

There are times I must question my sagacity in choosing to become a private detective. What good is being the most cunning investigator in the empire if no one ever believes my explanations?

Hearing a knock at the door, I went to answer.

"Detective," Leighton began, "how is the victim?"

"He is currently in the process of acquiring knowledge beyond our realm of comprehension, for he now knows without a doubt what occurs after death," I answered.

"A real pity!"

"Indeed."

"And Mansfield?"  
"I shall continue the investigation tomorrow. Good evening."

Despite his protests, I shut the door.

"Why did you tell him the victim was dead?" Dawson queried.

"I shall explain later. At the moment, I wish to retire to my chamber. Sleep well, Doctor. Pleasant dreams, Mrs. Judson."


	3. Another Sleepless Night

**Another Sleepless Night**

Insomnia overtook me as I vainly attempted to drift into peaceful slumber.

That idiot Leighton! Why had he mentioned Prescott?! Where was Mansfield anyway?!

Big Ben commenced tolling, informing London that it was two hours before midnight.

Being an investigator isn't at all the way it seems in books. I have suffered the immense displeasure of reading a few ludicrous novels about fictitious detectives. I must commend the authors for including the thrill of discovering clues and the intriguing nature of mysteries, but the writers tend to forget several aspects of the job. It isn't all about "Who committed the misdeed? Someone must pay!"

Before becoming a detective, I was told that the residents of Mousedom would sleep safely because of the difference I made in society. I would save innocent citizens from unnecessary imprisonment, and I would see dangerous felons locked away, never again to cause any harm. I valued the advice I was given, but counsel was a bit vague when it came to certain matters, such as the frustration of being outwitted by a fiend or the innumerable nights of insomnia.

No one ever warned me about Ratigan, and they certainly failed to inform me about Prescott.


	4. Unpleasant Memories Begin

**Unpleasant Memories Begin**

"Mr. Basil!"

I had smiled as I stepped down from the train.

"Welcome home!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Judson," I had replied. "I had the most extraordinary time at the university. I studied fascinating subjects, and I have no doubt my courses have prepared me to be the sort of detective I hope to become."

"You'll make a fine one," she assured me. "And just in time too!"

"Yes. I've read in your letters to me that a sinister fiend has been terrorizing London's streets. I must say I'm quite eager to bring this villain to justice!"

My first act was to buy a newspaper. When I saw the headlines, my heart sank. Surely I was misreading! Padraic Ratigan, a criminal?! How was it possible?! He was my best friend!

How wonderful! I had chosen the finest profession in Mousedom! It was now my duty to see my closest friend taken to jail, and more than likely hanged! In the interim, he would be attempting to plot my demise as well!

I spent the rest of the day grieving, but I tried to set aside my personal feelings. Ratigan had to be apprehended, or innocent citizens would perish.

To take my mind off my problems, I accepted my first case the next day. A woman was complaining that someone had broken into her home and stolen numerous items of great value while she was purchasing a few groceries. The burglar was blatantly an amateur, for I found enough evidence to prove his guilt and have him arrested that very day. Apparently, the crime rate in the empire was even higher than I had originally suspected, for the idea of a detective who solved a case in less than twelve hours was considered worthy to appear in various newspapers.

As I was sitting on a park bench later the subsequent day, a gentleman sat next to me.

"You're that new detective, aren't you?"

"What's it to you?" I rejoined.

"Inspector Prescott."

"Basil." I shook the hand he had extended.

"I'll come right to the point, Mr. Basil. I don't think you've got what it takes to capture Ratigan. However, I must admit you've got potential. Would you be interested in a partnership?"

"Hardly."

"Then prepare to hear your first confession."

"Hear a confession?!" I scoffed. "Since when did I become a priest?!"

Prescott clicked his tongue disapprovingly several times. "Too arrogant. Sarcasm over words that have more than one meaning won't help you solve any cases. I meant hearing someone confess to guilt, the way criminals sometimes confess to police officers."

"Is this to take the rest of the day, or will you speak and be done with it?"

"You've got the intelligence to outwit Ratigan, but I've got the personality for it. That being, I am forced to admit that I'm highly interested in being the one who brings the rat to justice, for such would earn me the greatest honor in the empire. It might even impress Queen Moustoria herself!" He paused. "You wouldn't be interested in gaining royal favor?"

"Not at all," I retorted.

"Whoever captures Ratigan will also save many lives and destroy the most powerful criminal ring in Mousedom."

"So I've read."

"I'll come right to the point, Basil. I intend to be the one to see to Ratigan's arrest."

"I've noticed."

"However, I know that as a novice detective, you're eager to make a name for yourself, so you'll want to see the felon apprehended."

"A true gentleman need not 'make a name' for himself; he is content to serve his community."

Prescott frowned. "So you don't want to be the one to order Ratigan's imprisonment?"

"Not particularly. It would please me immensely if someone else were to take him into custody." I sighed wearily. "However, it's not to be. His cunning is second only to my own. It is my duty to see him behind for bars, for I am the only one clever enough to do so."

"Mr. Basil, I'm afraid you're beginning to confuse me."

"If I'm confusing you now, just wait until you try working a case involving Ratigan."

"I offer you a partnership so we can work together to make sure this felon is punished for his crimes, and you refuse. Then I ask if we're destined to be rivals since we cannot be partners, and you make it sound as if you're too superior to be rivaled by any other investigators in the empire."

"Correct on both counts."

"Furthermore, you feel as if it is your duty to society to make sure Padraic Ratigan goes to jail…"

"Prison."

"Fine! You feel as if it is your duty to society to make sure Padraic Ratigan goes to _prison_, but you don't seem thrilled by the idea."

"Brilliant deduction, my dear Prescott."

He left, muttering something about how "novices like that give all investigators a bad name."


	5. The Work of a Novice

**The Work of a Novice**

Several detectives began to fall victim to attacks by ruffians. Some investigators were robbed while others were killed.

I'll never forget the night a young man, perhaps about seventeen years of age, came to my door and asked if I could find his older brother.

"I don't have much money, but…"

"We'll discuss it later," I interrupted. "We should be able to work out something. Detective Basil never turns away anyone in need."

He smiled. "Thank you, sir."

I sat down in my favorite chair. "Tell me everything, no matter how insignificant the details seem."

"My parents and I were visiting my brother and his new wife."

"How long ago was he wed?"

"About two months."

I nodded. "Proceed."

"Anyway, my sister-in-law suggested we stay for supper. She's practicing being a gracious hostess, you know, and she realized she was out of flour, so my brother decided he'd go and get what his wife needed, just like a good husband should do. After he was gone for two hours, we began to get worried. When he still hadn't returned by this morning, I thought I should find a detective. My brother had told me about you, and he said you've got a pretty good head on your shoulders."

"His name?"

"Inspector Leopold Prescott."

"Would you excuse me for a moment?"

Stepping into the other room and closing the door, I pressed my hand against my lips to remind myself that professional detectives refrained from succumbing to fits of wanton laughter. When I had regained my composure, I made a few more inquiries and began my investigation.

It proved quite the challenge. I began to understand why Mr. Sherlock Holmes often mentioned how helpful it would be to have a dog trained to assist with cases. After half an hour's work, I finally discovered a clue indicating the whereabouts of Inspector Prescott. Returning to Baker Street long enough to disguise myself, I located the room above the bar where he was being kept. Rather than bursting in, I decided to knock.

"Who is it?!" someone demanded brusquely, opening the door partially. "Password!"

"Here's my password!" I retorted, attempting to disguise my voice and drawing my gun.

The door opened, and I found myself surrounded by several ruffians I would come to know all too well in the years that followed.

"You that imbecile Mousigan sent to drown the hostage?" one inquired.

"None of your business who I am!" I rejoined. "Now hand him over!"

"How do we know you don't work for the police?!" another felon queried.

I pointed my gun at him. "I've killed men for saying less than that!"

"Just give him the snoop and get him out of here!" a third criminal exclaimed.

A fourth brought Prescott, who was tied and gagged. "Mousigan wants him to suffer! Make it slow!"

"As always!" I scoffed as if insulted by the implication I would ever murder someone quickly.

"Whatever! Now get lost, huh? We're busy drinking, and you're spoiling our fun!"

"You know I never leave without a tip!" I retorted.

"I'm out of money! You know how little Mousigan pays us! I can't tell who's worse, him or Muricide…Will you take a cigar instead?"

"Light it for me."

"Who died and made you Ratigan?! I don't have to light your cigars!"

"Light it!" I repeated.

One of the felons complied, and I left with a cigar in my mouth and Prescott's fate in my hands. That cigar was terrible! I didn't mind having a pipe, but if cigarettes tasted anything like cigars, I hadn't the slightest inkling how anyone ever fell into the habit of smoking such. I supposed I had to learn to smoke eventually in order to be effective undercover, but I wasn't looking forward to future lessons.

When Prescott and I were almost to the river, he began struggling.

"On your knees!" I commanded.

He did as he had been told, and I removed a blindfold from my pocket and tied it around his eyes.

"Stay still! I don't want to miss!"

Drawing the dagger I had been carrying, I severed the ropes that had bound him. I then removed his gag and blindfold.

"Do you still think novices like myself disgrace investigators everywhere?" I asked.

"Basil!" He smiled. "What a relief!"

"You fool! Did I not warn you Ratigan was too vulpine for you to incarcerate?!"

"It wasn't my fault!" he protested. "I was kidnapped while…"

"While doing an errand for your wife," I finished. "I should think you'd have known better than to let your guard down after so many detectives have been robbed, taken hostage, or slaughtered! Did you honestly think you would be spared because your name bears the title 'Inspector' rather than 'Detective'?! The way felons reason, you're still an investigator, a threat to be permanently eliminated!"

"Who's Mousigan?" he queried. "I overheard the ruffians mention someone by that name."

"His real name is Byron Yates," I explained. "He goes by 'Mousigan' to honor his role model, Padraic Ratigan. He's guilty of at least three murders, possibly more, and he's one of Ratigan's favorite employees and the current second-in-command of his criminal ring."

"And who is this 'Muricide' I heard them discussing?"

"Ratigan's rival," I replied. "He has his own band of the worst criminals in Mousedom. Mark my words. The day will come when Muricide and Ratigan tire of competing against each other, and one shall seize control of every criminal who works for the other, thus merging their separate gangs into the most dangerous criminal ring in the empire."

"Basil, I know we're not exactly what you would call friends, but I'm sure you agree that we can't allow this to happen. We've got to stop them before they become so powerful."

"I concur."

"Let's spend three weeks considering the best plan of action. Then we shall converse about our ideas and pursue one of these felons."

After three weeks, we met in the designated place. We discussed our thoughts on the matter and finally decided on a plan we mistakenly believed was infallible. Prescott was to find evidence to apprehend Muricide while I formed a case that would send Ratigan to the nearest cell.

"Good luck, Prescott."

"As to you, Basil." After a pause, he added, "After we bring these fiends to justice, will you reconsider my offer of partnership?"

"Most assuredly."

I extended my hand, and we shook to finalize the pact.

When I saw Prescott several days later, it was not as his partner, but as his pallbearer.


	6. Amity Becomes Enmity

**Amity Becomes Enmity**

As soon as Prescott's funeral had ended, I felt myself seized and forced into a hansom cab. I had too much on my mind to protest or even make any sharp retorts to my three captors.

I had barely descended from the cab when I heard a surprised voice joyfully call my first name. The next thing I knew, I had been pulled into a friendly embrace.

"Boss?!" one of the villains asked incredulously.

Ratigan cleared his throat and pushed me away. "Detective Basil." He frowned slightly, as if not yet accustomed to addressing me by title and surname.

"Padraic, why?" I attempted to take a sterner tone. "Ratigan, explain yourself!"

Ratigan's face was a peculiar combination of emotions. The idea that we were treating each other as strangers was nearly comical to him, yet he was stunned and remorseful that we now confronted each other as enemies. His jaw was set, as if he knew what he had to do, but his eyes showed regret.

"I know what your duty to society is," he began in what was almost a monotone. "You have to find evidence of my crimes and have me arrested. I'll probably get capital punishment. Am I wrong?"

"I'm also familiar with your role," I responded. "You must eradicate me before I can stop your reign of terror."

He made no reply.

"Must it be this way?" I continued. "Is there really no other option than enmity?"

After a long pause, he sighed. "I'm afraid not."

I could tell it had hurt him to answer in that manner.

"Be as quick as possible," I replied. "It will be easier on us both that way."

He gave a terse nod and slowly drew his gun. "It won't hurt, at least not for long. I hear there's a place on the forehead, and if you hit it just right, the victim dies instantly, feeling little or no pain. Did you want to pray or write a will or make any last requests or anything? I can wait."

"It will be harder for us both if you wait."

"You're right, as always." He raised the gun. "You sure I can't get you anything? A blindfold? A cigarette, perhaps? Oh, I know! Would you like a glass of champagne? I had my first champagne a few days ago, and it's marvelous!"

"Go ahead."

He pulled back the hammer and reluctantly wrapped his finger around the trigger. "Did you want to play the violin a final time? I'm sure we could find you a violin if you wanted!"

I placed my hand under the barrel of the gun and guided it to my head.

"I can't believe I have to tell you goodbye so soon! You just got back a couple months ago!" Ratigan remarked. He sighed. "Time changes everything, I suppose." He suddenly lowered the gun. "Basil, you will rest in peace, won't you? Promise me, Basil! Promise that you'll have eternal rest, and if there's a better place somewhere, you have to go there, alright? And if you come back in another life, be rich and happy, and die of old age. You'll be sure to do that, right? If death is like sleep, have pleasant dreams forever. Is there any place special you want me to bury you? I'd be glad to do it! How do you want your tombstone to look? Do you like flowers? I can put some on your grave. What kind do you like? Is it alright if I come visit you between heists?"

"Am I erroneous in assuming you have no profound desire to do this?"

"When have you ever erred?" he asked rhetorically. "The day you're outwitted by a criminal will be the day I'm executed by one of my own victims!" He raised the gun again. "I really am sorry it had to come to this. Goodbye, Basil. I'll still think of you as my friend instead of my enemy." After a long pause, he exclaimed, "**CURSES!**"

"What's wrong, boss?" one of the other criminals asked.

"I can't do it!" Ratigan threw down the gun in disgust. "I know if I don't kill him now, I may never have the chance again, for his brilliant mind is second only to my own! If he lives, he'll make my life miserable for the rest of my days! I'm already the most feared criminal in Mousedom, but I can't do it!"

He turned to me. "I can't hate you, Basil. I know I should, but I just can't."

"Nor do I feel hatred for you," I confessed. "It will get easier in time. We'll ruin each other's finest work and become so accustomed to antagonism that we'll barely remember the days before we became adversaries. True hatred will inevitably burn within both of us, and like a flame, it will destroy us both, just in different ways."

"A battle of wits until one of us is dead," he concluded. "The survivor gets to spend the rest of his life with regrets of what might have been if our niches in society had not been in direct opposition to each other."

"The day will come when you'll want to tear me to pieces with your bare hands."

"Curse that day!" he retorted. "And curse the day I became a criminal!"

"I don't suppose you'd consider reformation."

"No more than you'd consider felonies." He motioned to his ruffians, and they brought him two goblets and a bottle of champagne. "Will you have one last drink with me as friends? The next time we meet, I cannot afford to show you any mercy, nor can you afford to be merciful to me"

I nodded and accepted the glass.

"To the great mouse detective," he stated.

"To the world's greatest criminal mind."

We toasted.

"I should probably be insulting you," Ratigan commented, "but I can't do it, at least not now. I suppose it will come naturally in due time."

I held out my glass. "Here's to what might have been."

"I'll drink to that!"

I silently toasted to refusing to allow myself to get close to anyone ever again. Ratigan was a friend who had become my enemy by beginning his life as a criminal. Prescott had been a rival who had nearly become my friend before losing his life to a criminal. Salted lemon juice poured into an open wound could not possibly have been half as painful as either experience, let alone both incidents combined in the course of mere weeks.


	7. Dawson Ruins My Solitude

**Dawson Ruins My Solitude**

I had kept my vow for only a month before I met the puppy. I had no intention of allowing Toby's large eyes or playful nature to affect me in any manner, but training a dog to assist me in working cases seemed rather judicious. Despite my best intentions, I grew slightly fond of him, even though I certainly never showed any blatant signs of affection.

Years later, a rather chubby gentleman and a young Scottish girl found their way to my door. I thought nothing of it at the time; it was merely another case. However, the investigation led to Ratigan's final undoing.

Even after extensive research involving the English language, words fail me when I attempt to describe Dawson. Although not clever, he was rather sensible, as if our thought patterns were made to complement each other. Furthermore, he had acquired social skills that I simply had no time to perfect. I began to suspect he could prove most helpful on cases, as soon as he learned a bit more about how to perform undercover work successfully. Besides, he was a medical practitioner. His profession would no doubt prove useful, for many victims of crimes are somewhat less than perfectly hale.

The more I considered the idea, the more I began to accept it. Did not Mr. Holmes himself have a physician as a partner? Surely that was a sign! There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Dawson had to stay. Perhaps he was a bit of an embarrassment at times, but he did have ways of rousing me from depression, even if against my will.

It was too perfect not to be destiny. He had no place to stay, and I had no partner. I was also getting the strangest feeling that perhaps, over the course of time, we might become true friends. It had been so long since I'd formed any sort of friendship with anyone that I was beginning to wonder if it was time I tried again.

After the case, the Flavershams said goodbye. Dawson put on his hat, saying it was time he also was on his way.

"But…um…but I thought…" I struggled to find the right words.

He remarked that the case was over, and perhaps it was best if he found his own living quarters.

"Don't go!" I wished to argue. "You must stay! I lost Ratigan's friendship and Prescott's partnership! I cannot allow you to depart!"

While I was trying to form these ideas into words, a visitor knocked on the door. Dawson answered, assuring the young lady that she'd come to precisely the right place for help.

Seizing the opportunity, I placed an arm on his shoulders. "Allow me to introduce my most trusted associate, Dr. Dawson, with whom I do _all_ my cases! Isn't that right, Doctor?"

He was trapped. A true gentleman will not prove another to be a liar in the presence of a lady. Whether he relished or abhorred the idea, Dr. David Q. Dawson was now my partner.

I suppose he liked it well enough. He took up residence at Baker Street nearly two years ago, and he has yet to suggest any intentions of finding another place to live. Although we do exasperate each other to no end at times, I rather enjoy his company.

The evening Leighton paid us a visit, we had been reminiscing about previous cases. Leighton's concern for Mansfield, his partner, reminded me of what had happened to Prescott, my potential partner years ago, and what I had once feared would happen to Dawson. As memories often do, these reminders led to insomnia.

Big Ben tolled thrice before I finally fell asleep.


	8. Another Case Solved

**Another Case Solved**

"Good morning, Mr. Basil. You don't look as if you slept well."

"Never better, Mrs. Judson." I struggled to suppress a yawn. "How's our guest?"

"Dr. Dawson says our visitor will probably be ready to talk with you after breakfast."

"Very well."

"Leighton said last night that he'll be paying you a call some time before noon. He's quite worried about Mansfield."

I sipped my tea. "I seriously doubt it, but I applaud his audacity. He certainly knows how to appear guiltless."

When I had finished my morning meal, I introduced myself to our guest.

"Good morning, my dear fellow," I began.

"Basil of Baker Street, right?" he asked.

"Yes," I responded. "I know you suffered greatly last night, and I should like to find out who did this to you so the culprit can be suitably punished. Are you feeling well enough to answer a few questions?"

"I'll tell you all I know." He propped himself up on his pillow. "I have three children to feed, and my job isn't exactly going to turn me into a wealthy man. I needed money, but I didn't want to steal it, so I began asking everyone I met if they'd loan me a few pence. Two rich gentlemen offered me one hundred sovereigns if I would agree to return the money the next time my boss paid me. However, I only received ninety-two sovereigns as my wages. I gave these to the gentlemen, offering to return the other eight as soon as I could, but they thought I was cheating them. One of them threw a bag over my head, and the next said, 'Let's take care of him, Leighton!' Then everything went black, and I don't remember anything else. The next thing I knew, I was here."

"You were knocked unconscious, stabbed, and left for dead," I explained. "Leighton believed I would automatically eliminate him as a suspect since he is the chief of police, and he made up a story about a kidnapping to cloud my mind with unpleasant memories of sentimentality, thus freeing Mansfield from my suspicion. All I lack is the motive. Why would two distinguished police officers commit murder? Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"The worst is over now. I'll see both of them arrested this very afternoon. Thank you for your information."

When Leighton arrived at noon, he acted worried. "Have you seen any sign of Mansfield?"

"I shall have Toby track him at once!"

Leighton handed me Mansfield's hat, and Toby easily found the felon. The two police officers pretended to be elated to see each other. Mrs. Hudson's cat, who had accompanied us, immediately pinned them down under her paws.

"Call off the cat!" Mansfield begged.

"She seems to have the strangest belief that the two of you are criminals," I responded nonchalantly. "Where would she get such an outlandish notion?"

"Until recently, we've been good citizens," began Mansfield, "but someone offered us fifty pounds a week if we would mislead the police. We get money, and he gets to do a few harmless crimes."

"What crimes, dare I ask, are considered 'harmless'?"

He ignored my question. "He told us to commit the murder. The man we killed was one of his enemies. We didn't want to do it, but he said if we didn't, he'd kill us."

"His name?"

"We can't tell you. We knew you'd be summoned for the case when someone found out about the murder, so we…"

"Attempted to dupe me into believing you were concerned with justice and civic duty while making up a story about an unrealistic kidnapping to distract me," I finished. "Have no fear. We shall be more than happy to return you both to the police station."

After the fiends were imprisoned, Dawson congratulated me on solving another case.

"I could hardly have done it without your assistance," I replied. "However, we still have a new criminal mastermind to apprehend."

I was just preparing to take a brief nap when Mrs. Judson informed me, "Mr. Basil, some gentleman is at the door. He says when he woke up this morning, all the money was missing from his wallet. Also, there was a severed head on his pillow. He's quite shaken by the incident."

"A severed head?" I crossed my arms. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Oh, I wouldn't think so! He seems absolutely petrified!"

Lighting a pipe, I sat in my most comfortable chair. "You may show him in."

It turned out the fiend who had robbed this man and placed the severed head on his pillow was the same ruffian who had bribed the police officers into accepting employment from the other side of the law. The culprit was promptly arrested and sentenced, but that's an entirely different story.


End file.
